Rumor Has It
by Mlee.Write
Summary: "Jane, take off your pants," Teresa said irritably. "Here?" he asked scandalized. "In front of everyone?" Sequel to Jealous Dear?
1. Chapter 1

Title: Rumor Has It

Author: Mlee Write

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with the Mentalist in any way and am not earning anything from this.

Spoilers: Set sometime around season 3 approximately.

Summary: "Jane, take off your pants," Teresa said irritably. "Here?" he asked scandalized. "In front of everyone?"

I.

"Jane, take off your pants," Teresa said irritably.

"Here?" he asked scandalized. "In front of everyone?"

She sighed and held out a large plastic evidence baggie to him. "I'm not joking, Jane. You sat in evidence."

"I _kneeled_ in evidence," he clarified, pointing to the now soaked knees of his slacks. "It was dark."

One of the local cops, a man she thought was called Matthews said, "Well you shouldn't be crawling all over the body like that. 'S disrespectful."

Jane glanced at the body of Melissa Munroe, currently splayed out in a field in the middle of nowhere. Her arms and legs were akimbo, her eyes open, but sightless. Her shirt was soaked black with blood, the result of a multitude of stab wounds.

"She's dead," Jane said bluntly. "She doesn't care about respect."

Teresa thought Matthews was going to lurch forward and punch Jane, but Cho stepped in between the men. "He gets results," Cho said quietly.

Matthews clenched his jaw, but said nothing.

Teresa was doing some of her own jaw clenching. The victim had been stabbed and doused in some fluid that stunk like bad perfume. Jane had managed to kneel in a nice sized puddle of it. Chances were he hadn't damaged the crime scene in any way, but his slacks were officially now evidence.

She thrust the bag at him. "Now," she said in her most authoritative voice.

"Am I supposed to wander around in the all together then?" he asked snarkily.

"I have sweatpants in my go bag," Cho said. "In the van."

She shoved the baggie into Jane's chest. "Change in there."

"I'm going to look ridiculous!" Jane groused, marching off the maroon van parked on the road.

Teresa took the moment to circle the body herself, looking for anything unusual. The victim was an attractive woman, probably mid-thirties. She was dressed casually in jeans and a blouse. One of her ballet flats was missing, probably lost in the struggle.

Her body had obviously been posed after death, her face looking upward at the sky. Her eyelids looked bruised. Her lips were painted carnelian red, incongruous with the fairly conservative outfit. The majority of the stab wounds seemed concentrated around her abdomen, and Teresa could see where her intestines had begun to bulge from one of the cuts. The attack implied a sexual motivation, even if she was most likely not raped.

All of it screamed repeat offender, the posing, the extreme violence, the placement of the body in a field that was far from concealed from traffic. Her gut told her this man had killed before, and would again. She felt a familiar cold settle into her bones as her mind and body prepared her for what would likely be a long a difficult case.

She saw the coroner approach, preparing to remove the body.

Jane reappeared then, wearing black CBI sweat pants and his usual shirt-vest combo, plus the ridiculous brown shoes. She knew the minute the first giggle escaped her lips that she was in trouble. Matthews already resented them and the coroner was looking at her like she was deranged. She couldn't help it though; he looked ridiculous.

"I fully expect to be reimbursed for those pants," Jane said huffily.

She couldn't help it. She let out a full throated laugh. She swore Cho might have chuckled.

XXX

The carpeting in the motel's lobby was a horrible burnt orange. Grace was pretty sure it was from the 1970's, and that the owner hadn't wanted to modernize it lest it clash with the dark wood paneling and tacky wildlife prints.

She sighed and settled back onto the lumpy couch. They were all tired from a day of driving and climbing around a chilly crime scene. Her body was exhausted, but her mind was spinning. She knew that if she closed her eyes she'd see Melissa Munroe's bloody corpse.

Cho and Rigsby seemed similarly resigned. They sat with her around a coffee table and showed no indication of getting up to go to bed. Jane was his usual inscrutable self, and the boss always seemed tireless and professional, even during the most trying cases.

Lisbon finished her hot chocolate and set the mug on the table beside her. The friendly motel owner had made them all hot chocolate (after locating some tea for Jane) and assured them she'd clean up after they'd gone to bed. The warm beverage was surprisingly reassuring.

"I'm going to get some rest," Lisbon said. "I suggest you all do the same."

"I won't be able to sleep," Grace admitted as the boss left the lobby.

"Cards?" Jane suggested brightly.

"No," Grace and Cho replied in unison.

Rigsby actually smiled. "You know, I came prepared this time." He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a deck of Uno cards. "Pretty hard to cheat us all at a game intended for kids. I mean, it's all chance, no bluffs, no tells…" He pulled the wrapping off the deck and dealt their hands.

"Really, Rigsby, I resent the assertion that I cheat," Jane replied. "Reading your opponents isn't cheating."

They played several hands. Jane won each one. None of them were surprised or even irritated. More than anything, the game filled the time.

Straightening the cards into a neat pile Jane stood up and smiled. "Well that wasn't much of a challenge. See you in the morning, guys."

Grace smirked as he walked to his room, the opposite direction of Lisbon's. They all knew where he would wind up eventually.

XXX

It was the middle of the night when Teresa felt Jane slip into bed beside her. She hadn't given him her key; she didn't even want to know how he got in.

She sighed in contentment as his body pressed against hers. Jane did not believe in pajamas. His skin was hot.

"I'm tired," she warned sleepily.

"I know. I can't sleep unless you're the little spoon," he murmured, pulling her against him and kissing the back of her neck.

She grinned against her pillow and wiggled her bottom against him provocatively.

"Woman," he warned.

She tried to drift off to sleep, but the sight of the woman's mutilated body filled her mind.

"Jane?"

"Mmm?"

"Tell me something nice," she whispered. She asked him that sometimes. He never denied her.

He stroked her hair, and spoke in soft tones. "When you wear that blue sundress you look like a fairy princess," he said.

She snorted.

"You do. All pale and petite and ethereal. I think about you in that dress all day sometimes; it drives me crazy," he told her. "I think someday we should go to the beach. You should wear that dress, and we'll walk by the ocean and hold hands where everyone can see."

His voice was hypnotic. She felt entirely safe with him here. She hadn't fallen asleep feeling completely secure and loved since her mother died. No one had talked to her this way since she was a child.

She drifted off, imagining them on the beach, not bothered that it could never be.

When her alarm went off Jane was gone. He was always gone in the morning. There was a cup of coffee on her nightstand, still steaming when she removed the plastic cover. He'd stayed late this time.

She sighed and sipped the brew. It was never late enough.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Rumor Has It

Author: Mlee Write

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with the Mentalist in any way and am not earning anything from this.

Spoilers: Set sometime around season 3 approximately.

Summary: "Jane, take off your pants," Teresa said irritably. "Here?" he asked scandalized. "In front of everyone?" Sequel to Jealous Dear?

II.

Fortified by coffee, Teresa went to see to see the coroner.

Every morgue is the same, she thought, as she pushed through the double doors leading the autopsy room. They were all painted a sickly shade of green, were all rendered nauseas by neon lights, and all gave her the creeps, even after all these years.

The air in the room was cold and she resisted the urge to pull her jacket more closely around her.

Melissa Munroe's body was waiting on a large metal table, covered by a sheet. The coroner and his assistant must have just finished the autopsy because they were cleaning up as she entered.

"Teresa Lisbon," she announced, "CBI."

"Ah, you must be here about poor Ms. Munroe. I'm Dr. Fagin," the coroner said, stepping forward. If she had to pick a single word to describe him, it would have to be jolly. He was short and almost comically round, his bald head as round as his middle, and shining under the fluorescent lights. He looked like he enjoyed good food and good wine a little too much and his nose had the broken red capillaries to prove it. He had to be pushing retirement.

"Alex, would you mind?" he jovially asked the younger man she presumed was his assistant. He seemed almost pleased to have company.

Alex was as much his boss's opposite as was possible. He was tall, over six feet, rail thin and gangly. He looked as though he'd never grown out of the awkward phase of his teenage years. His frizzy brown hair was long, pulled back into a ponytail, and his small eyes blinked at her owlishly from behind wire framed glasses.

He carefully peeled the sheet down to Melissa Munroe's abdomen, stopping before he exposed her pubis. She leaned over the body along with the corner. The woman was ghastly white in harsh light, each stab wound a lurid purple. There were more than she thought.

Dr. Fagin seemed to read her mind. "Twenty-six stab wounds," he said professionally, "all located in the lower abdomen directly above the pubis. The killer managed to do extensive damage to her intestines, but if I had to guess, I'd say he was aiming more or less for her uterus. He was quite proficient at locating it."

Teresa focused on the stab wounds, trying not to look at the large black sutures that formed a Y shape on the body's stomach and chest. It always disturbed her to see that the damage the coroner did could be as ghastly as the wounds inflicted by the killer. "Were they all perimortem?" she asked.

"I'd say, although with the number of wounds she would have bled out and died quickly," he observed. "There were defensive cuts to her hands, but given the severity of the attack she would have gone into shock almost immediately."

"Was she sexually assaulted?" she asked.

Alex seemed to flinch, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"No," Fagin confirmed. He covered the woman up to her neck with the sheet. "The makeup she was wearing was most likely applied post mortem, though. I can send samples to a lab for you to try and determine the brand."

"Makeup?" Teresa remembered her bright lipstick.

"Purple eye shadow and red lipstick," the coroner confirmed. "It was applied over the makeup she already wore, and fairly sloppily at that."

She pondered a killer that would attack a woman's reproductive organs then paint her face in tacky makeup. She hoped whatever he used was unique enough to track him by.

"Thank you," she muttered, heading for the double doors.

"Any time, detective," said Fagin behind her.

XXX

It was a ridiculous habit, but after most visits to the morgue Teresa would go back to her room and shower. She knew rationally that the morgue wasn't a dirty place, that there were no such things as death-cooties, but she still felt like she had to get clean.

The rest of the team was out interviewing Melissa's friends and coworkers, so she had a few minutes to spare for a scalding hot shower. She turned the water as hot as she could stand it and stood under the spray, letting it pound her skin until she was red as a lobster. After a few minutes the bathroom filled with steam and she started to feel human again.

She reached for her travel sized shampoo and let out a strangled scream as the shower door slid open. Her hand pulled back into a fist as Jane entered the steamy shower cubicle, his body naked and golden.

"God damn it, Jane!" she hissed. "What are you doing?"

"Excuse me," he said, leaning over her and adjusting the water to a more normal temperature. "I'm showering with you obviously. You always take a shower after the morgue so I laid in wait," he said provocatively, wiggling his eyebrows for effect.

"You could be solving the case," she snapped, but the feel of his wet skin against hers was distracting.

He took the shampoo from her and began to lather her hair with long, gentle fingers. "The others are pounding the pavement doing the boring cop thing," he said. "You are naked, wet and in the shower. Easy choice."

She wanted to chew him out, but the feel of his fingers massaging her scalp was too good. Besides, what could a few minutes cost them?

After washing and conditioning her hair, Jane lathered his hands with lavender soap and began a thorough exploration of her body. He massaged the aching muscles in her neck and shoulders, then trailed his fingers lightly down her spine and back up. His soapy hands found her breasts and washed them, moving in circles, dancing softly over her nipples. She shuddered in pleasure and closed her eyes.

She felt his erection brush her stomach as he moved closer, then he crouched, skimming his hands over her stomach and hips, washing each leg carefully. As he ran his hands up her thighs he carefully avoided the one place she wanted so desperately to be touched. She bit her lip, stubbornly refusing to ask.

"Teresa," he said, breath puffing against her belly. "Do you trust me?"

She opened her eyes then. He was kneeling in front of her, his eyes large and dark with lust. He had a look of wicked intention on his face that made her swallow thickly. "Yes," she said, thinking that she wouldn't be able form any other word.

Carefully he soaped the thatch of hair at the juncture of her legs, his fingers gliding in between the lips of her sex to stroke her. Parts of her body felt tight and low with desire. She actually whimpered when she saw his hand close around her pink disposable razor.

"Trust me," he whispered, kissing her thigh.

Very carefully he drew the blade across the front of her pubis, leaving a line of white clean skin behind. He repeated the motion, every whisk of the blade expert and feather light.

She never understood why women did this; adults were supposed to have hair. Jane seemed to be enthralled through, his face a mask of erotic delight at each patch of skin he revealed.

Nearly bare now, she felt herself blush as he lifted one of her feet to the corner of the tub, extending her leg. Even more carefully now, he ran the blade along the lips of her sex, so gentle, so precise. The tiny pull of the razor against her skin felt dangerous and intimate beyond words. She felt herself swell with each stroke, her body grow bow-string tight.

"Jane," she whispered.

"Almost done," he said affectionately. He set the razor down. She naked there for him, exposed.

He grinned up at her, feral and wild, and then leaned forward to taste her. Now she understood why he liked this so much; there was nothing to obstruct his view or his touch.

She came apart against his tongue with embarrassing speed, the first touch enough to send her over the edge.

They ran out of hot water before they were done.

**A/N: Too much? Reviews are appreciated. **


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Rumor Has It

Author: Mlee Write

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with the Mentalist in any way and am not earning anything from this.

Spoilers: Set sometime around season 3 approximately.

Summary: "Jane, take off your pants," Teresa said irritably. "Here?" he asked scandalized. "In front of everyone?" Sequel to Jealous Dear?

III.

Teresa lay tangled in Jane's limbs as they drowsed on the bed. Well, she drowsed; as usual he was wide awake. He ran his fingers across the bare skin of her stomach, idly drawing invisible little pictures. An expression of feline satisfaction graced his features.

"We can't keep doing this," she mumbled, trying to sound stern instead of dreamy.

"Are you sore?" he asked, his fingers skimming down to part her legs and stroke her there.

She shivered. "No. A little, but not it's that and you know it. We're in the middle of a case, we should be working." She pushed herself up on her elbows. "The rest of the team is out there searching for leads, and you and I are holed up in the motel room going at it like rabbits."

Jane's fingertips continued their lazy, teasing motions. "How many nights have you worked later than everyone else?"

"That's not the point—"

"How many mornings have you shown up before everyone else?"

"Jane."

He smiled at her indulgently and kissed her lips. "All right, you're a harsh task mistress, but you're right. We should go find the killer."

Teresa disentangled herself, trying not to feel bereft and failing. "Get dressed," she sighed. "We'll go to the school and interview her coworkers."

XXX

Wayne hated crying women. Maybe it was all the crying his mother did because of his father, but he always felt like he was supposed to make it better, and he couldn't.

Jenny, Melissa Munroe's roommate, was curled into a little ball on the couch, a lumpy cardigan pulled tightly around her. Her face was blotchy and she was sobbing loudly into her knees. She'd been like that since they told her Melissa had been killed.

Wayne had tried getting her a glass of water, but it sat untouched on the coffee table between them.

"I know this is a really hard time," he said uncomfortably, "but you might know something that could help us catch the killer."

At the word 'killer' her sobbing went up a notch.

He fidgeted nervously.

Cho leaned forward in his chair. "Jennifer," he said harshly, a little too loudly in the small apartment. "Get a grip. We need to talk to you and you aren't helping anyone here."

Wayne almost snapped at his partner, but Jenny stopped sobbing, shocked into silence by Cho's barking command.

"Okay," she said, her voice watery.

""How long have you been roommates?" Cho asked.

"Four years. She moved up here from LA just as my roommate was leaving for Tampa." She sniffed. "Melissa was a teacher like me. Teaching doesn't pay well, especially in a small town like this, so I needed someone to help with the rent."

"She was from LA?" Wayne asked.

Jenny nodded. "She went to school there. I got the impression that she grew up there, but that she didn't want to talk about it. She said LA was full of sleezeballs." She took a sip of the water he'd given her. "She didn't have any family, her parents were dead, no brothers or sisters. She used to come home with me for Christmas. I have to tell my mom…" She dissolved into tears at the thought.

Cho continued to press. "Do you know of anyone who might want to hurt her? Any ex-boyfriends maybe?"

Jenny wiped her face. "No. Everyone loved her, especially her third-graders. She was so good with them. And she didn't date."

"Not once in four years?" Wayne asked, surprised.

"Guys asked her," she replied. "She was so pretty. She never said yes, though. I think…I think something happened to her in LA that she didn't want to talk about."

"You've been very helpful," he told her in a soothing voice. He passed her his card. "If you think of anything else, please call me."

They spent a few minutes looking around the apartment. It was small and clean, decorated cheaply but with care. There were a few scented candles scattered across the tabletops and pictures of family members who must have been Jenny's.

Melissa's room was tidy and impersonal. She had a few pictures of her past classes and her diploma on the wall. Wayne thought she must have liked elephants because there were little elephant figures all over the room, and a calendar featuring the pachyderms over her desk.

Cho flipped through her datebook. "Nothing but a few reminders for parent teacher's conferences and a dental appointment," he said.

They checked the usual hiding spots for drugs and found only a few romance novels and a vibrator. Wayne thought that if he had a dollar for every time he found a hidden sex toy in a victim's bedroom he'd be able to buy that new car he wanted.

Everything seemed too ordinary. He sighed and rocked back on his heels. This was the kind of case they needed Jane for.

XXX

Melissa had taught at the town's elementary school. Since it was a small community the elementary and middle schools were combined, the high school a block away. It meant that the area was teeming with kids on a Tuesday morning.

Jane kept his hands in his pockets and watched the students to see if they'd heard of their teacher's death yet. The littler ones seemed oblivious, getting off the school bus or walking down the street, bogged down by Dora the Explorer and Transformers backpacks. They seemed unconcerned about a strange man standing outside their school. It was an innocent place, he thought sadly.

Lisbon had dropped him off in front of the school while she went to park in the guest lot. She walked down the sidewalk toward him now; he grinned when he realized a few of the middle school boys were taller than she was.

"Ready to go in?" she asked. He knew she was wondering if he was okay. The children getting off the bus were the same age as Charlotte when she'd died.

"Just a minute," he said. He pointed to a group of high school students lingering on a corner, laughing. They had the air of trouble about them.

Jane managed to walk up largely unnoticed, but the moment the boys caught sight of Lisbon they started to scatter.

"Wait, wait, wait," Jane said, holding up his hands. "Yes, she's a cop, but I'm not. We just want to ask you about Ms. Munroe."

"Is it true someone stabbed her?" One of the boys asked.

"Yes," Jane replied. He could feel Lisbon's scowl at his back. "Didn't take long for that to get around."

"Small town," the same boy replied, pushing dirty strands of hair out of his face. He was dressed as if he didn't care what anyone thought of him, baggy, grungy, but the effect was so well put together that he clearly planned his wardrobe that way.

Jane saw his eyes shift down as he said that. "It's more than that, though, right?" Jane asked. "She was part of the rumor mill already?"

All of the boys shifted nervously.

"She was hot, okay man?" one said a little too defensively.

"Was she sleeping with any of you?" Jane asked.

All the boys broke into embarrassed laughter. "Everyone else though," one of them sniggered.

Lisbon raised an eyebrow. "She was sleeping around?"

"Uh, no," the first kid looked nervous now. "It was just like, a rumor, and stuff."

With the skill of an expert pickpocket, Jane slid his hand into the kid's jacket and pulled out his phone.

"Hey!" the grungy boy shouted. Lisbon blocked him as he lunged for Jane.

Jane flipped through the phone, checking his photos and videos quickly. He pulled up one video and felt his pulse race when it played. It was a scene from a porno movie, two women fellating a man, but that wasn't why his pulse kicked up. One of the women was Melissa Munroe.

"Rumor mill huh?" He showed the video to the boys, all of whom looked like the wanted to earth to open up and swallow them whole.

"Some senior found that," grumbled the grungy boy. "He sent it to everyone."

"So the whole school knew she was a porn star?" Lisbon asked, her cop voice broking no nonsense.

The kid shifted. He wouldn't look at the video. "No like the whole school, just some guys, you know?"

Jane slipped the kid's phone into his own pocket.

"Hey man, that's mine!" he shouted.

"I'll give it back," Jane replied blithely.

The kid's face was turning bright red. "You can't keep that, asshole! That's theft!"

Lisbon stared the little punk down. "I can keep it, and I can show you're parents everything you've looked at on there. Would you like your mom to see the porn you've got stashed on that thing?"

Grungy boy's rage withered.

"Now go to class," she finished firmly.

As they walked away Lisbon said, "I think we need to talk to the principal."

**A/N: Thanks so much to Vadergirl2006, Ebony, Anna, Chiisana Minako, csiAngel, House ever, Pacific Marl, SR Devaste, ninaferrero, UnhealthyViewingHabits, sorchuana, Little Firestar84, Gone2Far, CCTheVampireLover, LAurore, Starscape91 and all the "guests" for your reviews. I hope you're liking this one. It's more a little more mystery than the last story.**


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Rumor Has It

Author: Mlee Write

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with the Mentalist in any way and am not earning anything from this.

Spoilers: Set sometime around season 3 approximately.

Summary: "Jane, take off your pants," Teresa said irritably. "Here?" he asked scandalized. "In front of everyone?" Sequel to Jealous Dear?

**Author's Note: This story might be slightly more adult than some of my previous ones. I know chapter two bothered some people, which I understand. Since Jane and Lisbon are both around forty, sexually experienced, confident people this is how I imagine their relationship progressing. It won't get any more explicit than it's already been, but I wanted to post this note for anyone who may not want to continue.**

**For those of you who do want to keep writing, please review!**

IV.

Elmwood School's principal was a wiry little man who reminded Jane of a fox terrier. He moved with too much nervous energy, and his eyes seemed to be constantly searching for something.

Lisbon cut right to the chase. "Mr. Hopper, did you know you had employed a former adult film actress as a grade school teacher?" There was no judgment in her tone, but no bullshit either.

Hopper pulled at his tie. "I heard the rumors, nasty rumors, but I had no way to substantiate them. Even if I did, legally I'm not sure that's grounds for termination."

Jane crossed his legs. "Liar."

Hopper's frantic gaze snapped to him. "What?"

"You saw the video. You knew it was Melissa," Jane replied casually. He watched for the other man's tell.

He pulled at his tie again. _Bingo_. "I, uh, don't know what you're talking about."

Jane sighed, bored already. "You can stop lying, I can tell. You watched the videos. What did you do? Offer to let her keep her job if she 'performed for you?"

Hopper stood up, his face flushed. "This is absurd. I don't have to tolerate this kind of slander!"

"Sit down, Mr. Hopper," Lisbon said coolly.

The confiscated phone in Jane's pocket buzzed. He took it out and read the text message. _And asshole. I hate you_. The text was from someone named Aimee. From her photo she was about sixteen.

Jane typed back. _Hate me?_

"I find it hard to believe you hadn't seen the video," Lisbon was saying. "It was probably on half the cellphones at this school. Which means parents saw it too."

The phone buzzed. _U left with that bitch_. Uh-oh, Jane thought, teenage jealousy.

He typed, _Aimee, you know that I love you with all my heart. How could you think she means anything to me?_ He hit send.

"Did any of the parents complain?" Lisbon continued.

He heard Hopper touch his tie, but his eyes were one the phone. "I received an email," the principal sighed. He started searching his computer for it. Jane heard the printer on his desk fire up.

Aimee responded, _WHAT?_

Jane typed, _Aimee, my heart and soul, let me make it up to you. Dinner? Roses?_

He could practically hear the hesitation in the text that he got back, _OK…_

He forwarded the video of Melissa, aka Angel Xtreme, to Grace and then slipped the phone back into his pocket.

Lisbon was reading the email. "This is pretty harsh stuff, Mr. Hopper. Did you warn Ms. Munroe that she was receiving threats?" She passed the email to Jane.

He scanned the page. The sender, someone named Ed Hayes, called Melissa a "dirty whore" and worried that she was "corrupting" the kids. He threatened to take action into his own hands if Mr. Hopper wasn't willing to fire the teacher.

Hopper looked intensely uncomfortable now. "I never said anything no, I hoped this would blow over."

Lisbon stood, her angry stare freezing the other man. "Well, you may have just gotten a woman killed," she said harshly.

They left the principal to ponder that, Lisbon opening her phone and calling the rest of the team, telling them to convene at the station. As they walked to the guest parking lot, Jane saw the same group of high schoolers milling around outside, smoking and cutting class.

He held up a hand to Lisbon and jogged over to them.

"Hey man," the grungy boy, Andy, asked nervously. "You aren't gonna tell my mom for real, right?"

"Nah," said Jane, tossing him his phone.

Andy began to fiddle with it. "Dude, were you texting on this?" he asked, outraged.

Jane rolled his eyes. "Thank me later, when Aimee forgives your sorry butt." He headed for the parking lot. "Dinner and roses, Andy. You promised."

XXX

Back at the station everyone hovered around Van Pelt's laptop as the local PD went to pick up Ed Hayes.

Van Pelt froze her screen on a still shot from an adult movie called "Angel Does the Outfield," in which Melissa Munroe, aka Angel Xtreme, had sex with an entire baseball team. Watching porn with her co-workers was not Grace's idea of a good time.

Everyone squirmed uncomfortably except Cho, who never squirmed, and Jane, who delighted in everyone else's discomfort.

"It sure looks like her," Grace muttered.

"Her roommate said she was from LA, and that she didn't like to talk about her life there," Cho volunteered. "She was probably ashamed."

"We'll have to dig into her past life," Lisbon said. "Cho, Rigsby, book a flight to LA."

"Can I shut this off now?" Grace asked. It came out sort of whiney.

"Does it make you uncomfortable?" Jane teased. "It's just two adults engaging in consensual sex."

Grace flushed. "It's six adults engaging in consensual sex, and yeah, I don't like watching porn with my coworkers."

"But you like watching it alone?" he prodded.

"Jane." Lisbon's voice was sharp.

"Agent Lisbon?" Officer Matthews poked his head around the door. "You're going to want to see this."

She turned in time to watch the man she presumed was Ed Hayes being dragged down the hall in cuffs. He was spitting and hissing like a mad cat, screaming at the officers who held him. "I didn't kill that fucking slut! Get your hands off me!"

One of Lisbon's eyebrows quirked up.

"When we went to pick him up for questioning we heard a fight inside. He was tuning up his wife, pretty bad," Matthews said. "They were fighting about the victim I think. We went inside and I saw this, sitting in plain sight."

He held an evidence bag out to her. It contained a hunting knife.

"Send that down to forensics," she ordered. "And let's get a search warrant for the rest of the house."

"Guess we're not going to LA," Rigsby said.

XXX

It was late and Teresa was bone tired. The search of the Hayes' residence had revealed the same color and brand of makeup used to paint Melissa Munroe's face after death. Unfortunately it was a cheap drugstore brand that probably millions of people owned. Forensics would know come morning if the knife they had found matched the murder weapon.

Mrs. Hayes had revealed that her husband was abusive toward her. He seemed to leave their young son alone. The portrait she painted was one of a misogynist who blew a gasket when he realized that one of the porn stars he'd watched on DVD had been his son's teacher. Of course the sheer volume of porn they'd found in the house spoke volumes as well.

If the knife matched, the case was solved.

She stripped down to her panties and threw herself across the bed, letting out a huff of air. She'd skipped having dinner with the team at the only diner open this late, and her stomach rumbled in protest.

She dozed off, slept for maybe an hour, only to wake at the sound of the door opening. She opened one eye, instinctively reaching for the gun on her nightstand.

Jane slipped into the room carrying a white to-go bag.

"Someone is going to catch you one of these days," she muttered. "You need to be more careful."

"I'm very careful," he replied, setting the bag on the bed and pulling out a can of Coke. He handed it to her. "I told the motel owner about our star crossed love affair and she gave me a copy of your key."

Teresa sat bolt upright. "Are you serious? Do you have any idea how illegal that is? What if you were a psychopath?"

"Then she'd be in a lot of trouble, but I'm not, so she isn't." He took a Styrofoam box from the bag, opened it, and presented it to her as if it were a silver platter. There was a club sandwich and fries inside. Teresa felt her mouth water.

"The team could find out," she said, snatching a fry.

"The team figured it out before we did," he offered. "They won't say anything. They love you too much."

She nibbled the fry. "Hmm. And what happens when we get back to Sacramento?"

Jane shrugged. "We'll figure it out." His face clouded over. "We'll need to be more careful there. If Red John finds out…"

Teresa took the box from him and began eating in earnest. "Forget Red John, what about Bertram?"

"I told you I couldn't offer you much, Teresa," he said, his eyes full of sorrow.

She took his hand. "I know."

They sat quietly for a long time. She ate, and they watched TV neither of them really paying attention. Teresa marveled at how safe she felt with Jane. She was sitting there in her panties without a care in the world, as if they were an old married couple.

The sex was still a little shocking, and phenomenal, but it was tempered with a level of trust she'd never given a man before. She shifted a little, looking at him out of the corner of her eye.

He grinned. "You're thinking dirty thoughts, Agent Lisbon."

"I am not," she argued.

"You have been all day," he insisted. "You've been twitching all day. I think it's because you aren't used to the feel of clothes on the bare skin of your labia, am I right?"

She gasped.

He leaned forward and kissed her neck. "It's so sensitive," he whispered, "isn't it? And every time you feel the brush of fabric against it, you think of my mouth there."

"Patrick," she said on a little moan.

His mouth never leaving her neck, he had trailed his fingers down the band of her panties, and skimmed them down her legs. Her skin felt exposed and vulnerable, naked against the scratchy cloth of his suit.

She unhooked his belt, pushed her hand inside his pants and underwear, and squeezed his erection. He sighed against her skin.

She stroked him over and over, until his kisses became sloppy and distracted. Then she slid down his body, pushed his pants down, and drew him into her mouth. She hadn't done this with him yet, and his eyes widened in surprise. She teased him mercilessly, her touch too light. Finally, he grasped her hair and pushed her lips down on him harder, faster. He wasn't being forceful, and she delighted in the trembling she felt in his hands.

She hummed in appreciation of his scent and taste, so clean and male. She swallowed him, hearing him groan. When he climaxed she didn't pull back. She drank him down, reveling in her power over him.

He let out a loud sigh when she finally released him. His head sank back on the pillow.

"Turn about," she said slyly, "is fair play."


	5. Chapter 5

Title: Rumor Has It

Author: Mlee Write

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with the Mentalist in any way and am not earning anything from this.

Spoilers: Set sometime around season 3 approximately.

Summary: "Jane, take off your pants," Teresa said irritably. "Here?" he asked scandalized. "In front of everyone?" Sequel to Jealous Dear?

V.

Teresa was trying to enjoy her last few bites of case closed pizza, but she couldn't. Even though he was across the room, ostensibly napping on her couch, she could_ hear_ Jane thinking. It was that nerve-racking, gears-grinding kind of thinking that usually led to formal complaints and paperwork.

She set the pizza down on a grease-stained paper plate. "Give it up, Jane," she said.

"Hmm?" He let his arm drop from where it had been resting over his eyes. "Give what up, my dear?"

She winced at the pet name. They were alone in her office, but she still feared one day Jane would slip, and she'd have to tell LaRoche she was sleeping with the man. That was a conversation she didn't want to have, ever.

"You're thinking Ed Hayes isn't guilty," she said. "The knife was a match, Jane. He had the makeup in his house. He wrote a threatening email. It's a circumstantial case, but it holds."

"It doesn't make sense," Jane argued. "Melissa Munroe used to be an adult film star. She changes her life, goes back to school, moves to Elmwood where she thinks no one will recognize her."

"Right."

"But Hayes, thanks to his endless porn collection—which I hear the evidence boys are just having a ball cataloguing—does."

"I'm still with you, Jane." She crossed her arms over her chest.

"So Hayes freaks out that his kid is being taught by a former porn star, goes ballistic, stabs her multiple times, then paints makeup on her?" He snorted. "The murder was fetishized. Hayes was a run of the mill pervert."

"Who beat up his wife," she argued. "He hates women."

"Maybe, but he's a coward," Jane countered. "He hit someone who he knew wouldn't fight back. He wrote an email sure, but if he were the killer, he would have confronted Hopper in person. He would have been more aggressive."

"Then explain the knife and makeup."

"Coincidence," Jane said.

Teresa let out a laugh. "You're the one always saying there is no coincidence. You're just pouting because you didn't get to dazzle us all with your magic and catch the killer in an elaborate plot."

"Well, there is that," he conceded. "But it still feels wrong."

She tossed the remainder of her dinner and the plate in the trash. "It feels easy. Sometimes it is easy, Jane."

She grabbed her jacket and keys. "It's after eight. I'm heading home. Do you want to spend the night at my place?" The words slipped from her lips before she even thought about them; she had just assumed they would spend the night together.

Jane's face remained impassive. "I'll stay here, thanks."

Despite her better judgment, Teresa felt the sting of rejection. "Are you mad at me because I don't agree with you?" she asked incredulously.

Jane rolled onto his side, pillowing his head on one arm. "Yes, I'd much rather sleep in a dusty attic than in bed with you because I'm being petulant," he said sarcastically.

She gritted her teeth. "Don't be an ass."

"I can't follow you home every night, Teresa, no matter how much I want to. You know that," he replied. "Red John is watching me, all the time."

"You don't know that," she argued.

"Then explain Kristina," he snapped. "Sneaking into your room when we're on a case is one thing—we're already forced into close proximity with each other. We have to be careful here."

"I can't stand the thought of you sleeping alone in that crappy attic," she said, her voice betraying her frustration. "It's like you're punishing yourself."

Her words hung heavy in the air.

"I'm protecting you," he replied coldly. He stood up, and ran a hand through his curls.

"Are you sure that's really it?" She could taste the bitterness on her tongue.

"I told you I—"

"Couldn't give me much," she finished for him. "Believe me, I know."

Words were stuck in a lump in her throat. She was equal parts furious at his obstinacy and disappointed she was going home alone. She wanted Jane there, next to her, settling in to her life. She'd picked the wrong man for that. She had known what this relationship would entail, and she was embarrassed that she let herself feel hurt.

She opened the door to her office and marched out, heels clacking. She heard Jane leave. She felt his presence behind her as he moved for the stairs while she stabbed impatiently at the elevator button.

Her jaw was still clenched tight when she got back to her place. She tossed and turned in her cold, empty bed, missing him. Every time she closed her eyes she pictured him stretched out on that medieval pallet in the attic, suffering needlessly.

Sometime around three a.m. she fell asleep, only to wake an hour later when her phone chirped.

"Lisbon," she growled into the cell.

It was the AG's office. There had been another murder. Jane had been right.


	6. Chapter 6

Title: Rumor Has It

Author: Mlee Write

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with the Mentalist in any way and am not earning anything from this.

Spoilers: Set sometime around season 3 approximately.

Summary: "Jane, take off your pants," Teresa said irritably. "Here?" he asked scandalized. "In front of everyone?" Sequel to Jealous Dear?

VI.

Teresa stood near the body, watching the pounding rain wash away her crime scene. Icy raindrops ran down the back of her CBI windbreaker, collecting in a chilly pool at the base of her spine before being soaked up by her jeans. Her hair clung in stringy strands to her face.

She blinked away the raindrops, looking at the body with an almost overwhelming sense of sadness. She was young, like Melissa Munroe, posed with arms and legs spread. The deluge had washed away most of the blood now, so that she could count the red slashes marring the woman's lower abdomen; seventeen that she could see.

This woman was dark haired, where Melissa had been blonde. She looked younger than the first victim somehow, perhaps because the rain had washed away most of the gaudy makeup the killer had applied post mortem. Only a few stubborn smears of lipstick remained, fuchsia this time.

"She was definitely dumped here," Cho said, huddled inside his own rain slicker. "Even with the weather, there isn't enough blood for her to have been murdered here."

The crime scene guys were setting up a tarpaulin to cover the body, for all the good it would do. Any valuable forensics were likely gone. This time the victim was left by the side of the freeway, a hundred miles from the last body.

Teresa shook her head. All she could think of was what a waste this was, a life cut so short. The woman couldn't have been more than twenty-two.

Rigsby came over, carrying a driver's license in a plastic evidence bag. "Her ID was in her pocket," he said. "Says her name is Sarah Luther."

"The adulteress?"

Everyone turned to see Jane marching up the slick hillside, his suit jacket dripping wet.

"You know her?" Teresa asked, then, "Do you not own a rain jacket?"

"She's married to that billionaire investment banker, Janus Luther," Jane said. His hair was dark and plastered to his head, rain running in rivulets down his face. "She had an affair with her yoga instructor and now they're fighting over the prenup in court. It's been all the gossip magazines."

"You read gossip magazines?" Rigsby asked.

"No," he replied, "but Grace does, and I sneak them from her desk after hours."

Teresa sighed and turned back toward the body. "Let's pack it up guys. There's nothing we can do here except catch pneumonia." She looked pointedly at Jane. "I know I gave you a CBI windbreaker last year."

"I lost it," he replied petulantly.

Everyone glanced at him skeptically. "You never lose anything," Teresa prodded.

"It's so ugly, Lisbon," he whined. "It makes me look like I'm 'the man.'" He put air-quotes around 'the man.'

She rolled her eyes and left him standing in the rain.

XXX

The office was silent when they got back. It was six a.m. and most of the staff wouldn't be arriving for an hour or more. Cho put on a pot of coffee, and they set to work investigating what connections Sarah Luther might have to Melissa Munroe.

Teresa went to her office in search of the spare clothes she kept in the bottom drawer of her filing cabinet.

She was unfolding a pair of slacks when the door hissed open, and Jane walked in, unannounced as usual.

"Solve it already?" she asked. Her voice was bitter.

"Nah," he mused. "Not yet." He held up a white terry-cloth towel, the kind the CBI gym used.

"So you won't wear your state issued windbreaker, but you steal the towels," Teresa said sarcastically. She knew she was being childish, but she refused to take it from his hand. "I'm going to the bathroom to change."

He stayed in front of the door. "You can change in here."

"With you here? I don't think so, Jane."

He had the gall to grin. "There have been rumors about us since the week I started."

"Doesn't mean I have to give them any credence," she argued. "Move so I can get changed."

"Your hair is soaking, Lisbon." Jane approached her slowly, as if he were afraid she would startle and dash away like a doe. Carefully he brushed the towel over her hair, parting the drenched strands in his fingertips and blotting them with the towel.

He was soaking too, and their wet bodies standing so close together made the air feel steamy and humid. He smelled of wet wool, but not unpleasantly. He took a handful of hair from the back of her head and lifted it so he could dry her neck in slow, gentle strokes.

She felt her eyes close against her own volition, each brush of the towel as tender as a lover's caress. He collected her hair at her nape and wrung it dry in the towel, then, still holding her captive, bent and brushed the softest of kisses to her lips.

"I'm sorry, Teresa," he whispered. "I'm sorry I can't be who you want me to be."

She squeezed her eyes shut tighter, feeling her throat tighten but refusing to cry. "It's not that, Jane. It's that you won't let yourself live at all. You punish yourself…put up these invisible barriers…"

"Red John is very real," he said, his voice a warning.

"I'm real too, and I'm standing right here in front of you," she argued, her voice a whisper.

Pain flashed across his features. "Teresa…"

"Sarah Luther was so young, Jane. She had everything taken from her in a moment," she said softly. "She'll never laugh again, never make love again, never feel the rain again… I'm not going to give up all those experiences out of the fear of what might happen."

He let her hair fall from his hand, stepped back. "Then maybe I'm not the man for you, Teresa," he said bitterly.

"Patrick, don't."

"He may be a boogeyman to you, but he's real to me." His eyes were dark and hypnotic now, pools of pain and obsession. "I can only give you this, and if it's not enough, I'm sorry."

He left her with one last quick kiss, an apologetic brush of the lips.

Teresa leaned against her desk and wondered how she could have deluded herself that this would work, how she could hurt so much.

XXX

Cho had the office TV on mute, but he watched the screen impassively.

"The TV people are calling him the Ripper," he told her when she finally emerged from her office an hour later, still damp and wrinkled.

"The Ripper? As in Jack the Ripper?" She stopped in front of the TV and felt a headache building behind her eyes. Once the media named a serial killer it turned everything into a fiasco of false tips, amateur detectives, and investigative reporting. It turned the senseless deaths of two women into a circus.

She sighed. "Grace, better set up a tip line. The whack-jobs will start calling in soon anyway. See if Vice can loan us a few bodies to man the phones."

"On it." Grace picked up her phone.

Rigsby swiveled around in his chair. "ME won't get to the body until this afternoon, but she said she'd rush you the report. Do you want to be there for the autopsy?"

"Not particularly," she sighed. "Anyone notify the husband?"

"Luther already lawyered up," Cho said. "And he's not messing around. He's got the best defense attorney money can buy."

Jane strolled into the bullpen, blue teacup in hand. "Doesn't matter. He's not the killer."

Teresa quirked an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"It's not someone these women knew," Jane said confidently. He perched on the edge of Cho's desk, sipped his tea. "The killer is a stranger to them. He's a man who sees their sexual behavior as sinful, promiscuous. He paints their faces in garish makeup because he wants them to look like the whores he knows them to be."

Teresa felt a sour burn starting in her stomach. She had a feeling Jane was right.

He continued. "He attacks the symbol of their fertility and femininity, their womb. He's going to kill again, and soon."

Her mouth turned down into a bitter frown. He was right, and she knew it.


	7. Chapter 7

Title: Rumor Has It

Author: Mlee Write

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with the Mentalist in any way and am not earning anything from this.

Spoilers: Set sometime around season 3 approximately.

Summary: "Jane, take off your pants," Teresa said irritably. "Here?" he asked scandalized. "In front of everyone?" Sequel to Jealous Dear?

VII.

Four bodies.

Four dead women in the morgue two weeks later, and still no clue as to the killer. Even Jane was stymied.

They fit his profile to a T. An adult film star, a prominent adulteress, and now two prostitutes. One was a young runaway, eighteen, selling her body to stay alive. Each attack had been more violent, until the final woman, the runaway, had nearly been eviscerated.

Teresa lay on the couch in her office, the one she wouldn't admit smelled of Jane, and pressed the heel of her hand to her eyes. She felt her migraine building with alarming intensity.

Each body had been dumped somewhere near a main road or highway. The killings had happened elsewhere. Each had been painted with cheap cosmetics. Each had been anointed with cheap perfume.

She could smell that perfume now, acrid on the back of her tongue.

Someone knocked on her office door and the pounding felt like nails being driven into her skull.

"Boss," Grace asked, poking her head inside. "It's late, you should go."

"I'm going to leave soon," Teresa said, not turning her head for fear it would explode. The thought of driving while facing the headlights of oncoming traffic was unbearable.

She could Grace's worry. "Are you sure?"

"I'm fine, go get some rest," she insisted.

Her heart lurched when she heard Grace say, "I'll tell Jane to check up on you," before she shut the door.

They had kept their distance these past weeks. Neither was hostile, but both were hurt. Jane because she wouldn't accept him for who he was, Teresa because he was holding back.

Every night she went to bed, hoping to hear the front door of her apartment open. She'd hoped to feel his warm skin against hers, his arms around her so she could sleep. She knew he was stubborn, but from the dark circles under his eyes when she saw him the mornings, he was hurting himself as well.

They were at an impasse, both too obstinate to do anything about it.

Realistically she knew she had to accept what Jane was offering or move on. She couldn't heal his wounds, and it was unfair of her to expect him to change so fundamentally. If she wanted a fairy tale she'd need to find another prince.

She must have dozed because when she woke strong fingers were massaging her temples.

She kept her eyes closed but inhaled deeply. "Is that lavender?"

"Essential oils," Jane murmured. "It should help with the pain."

It did, with the physical pain at least.

Eventually she sat up. Jane was crouched by the side of the sofa, a small brown vial in his hand. She motioned for him to sit beside her, and when he did she leaned her head against his shoulder.

It felt good, being close to him. It also burned her, made her disparately want him to hold her, kiss her. Her hands itched to gasp his shoulders and pull him to her. She felt a lump in her throat.

"I hate this," she said, then quickly added. "Having no leads. More girls will die because we're not figuring it out."

"He's good," Jane replied. "We have no clues because he leaves none."

She let out deep sigh. "Everyone makes mistakes, Jane." _Even me. Even you._

He rolled the vial in his palm, thinking. "Do you still have my pants?"

"Hmm?"

"The ones you took for evidence."

"You can't have those back, Jane. They're soiled with blood and perfume."

She felt a little quiver of intensity go through his body. "The perfume, was it oil or alcohol based?"

"I don't know why?" She perked up slightly. "Forensics couldn't match it to any name brand, but there are so many types available…" She got up from the couch, wincing as the motion made her head throb, and began thumbing through the evidence reports. "Oil-based."

He took her hand and pulled her to the door. "Take me down to the evidence locker."

It was late and the CBI basement was empty and forlorn. The third shift evidence clerk was flipping through a paperback mystery, and waved them in, barely looking at their credentials.

Teresa located the correct box easily and pulled out Jane's soiled slacks, still encased in plastic. He snatched them from her, opened the bag, closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply.

"What does that smell like to you?" he asked after a moment.

She took a whiff of the bag. "Vanilla? And something musky?"

"Not quite vanilla," his eyes had that faraway look to them. "But similar." He tapped his lower lip. "Styrax."

She frowned. "Pardon?"

"Styrax. It's a tree resin used in perfume making. It was used by ancient cultures, as well as today."

Teresa resealed the evidence bag. "Honestly Jane, do you sit in your attic and read the encyclopedia all night?"

He bristled. "I know how to Google." He paused then added, "Besides, my nights haven't been otherwise occupied lately."

"Whose fault is that?" she snapped before she could catch herself.

She felt her own resentment settle over them like an ugly, cloying scent. Then she took a deep breath and shifted her gaze away from him guiltily. "I'll start looking into where you can get styrax. It's a good lead, Jane."

He followed her out of the dingy evidence room. "Hopefully he's not just ordering it online."

She signed the log so they could take the slacks with them.

As they made their way to the elevator he said, "You should get some rest, Lisbon. We can follow up on this in the morning." His voice was kinder than it had been in weeks, laced with genuine concern.

"Another woman could be dead by morning," she replied.

Her hand squeezed the evidence bag a little too tightly. This was becoming too much, the constant arguing, the resentment simmering between them. It was foul, corrupting their professional life. She was starting to wear her bitterness like a shroud.

The ride to the ground floor seemed to take forever. She kept her eyes on the golden doors so she wouldn't have to look at him. She wasn't surprised when Jane didn't get off the elevator with her; he was going back to his attic to brood.

"Call me when you find something?" he asked. His voice had a pleading note to it.

"Sure," she agreed without thinking. Her hand squeezed the bag more tightly; it crinkled in her grip. She was holding a piece of Jane in there, the only piece she got to take home with her.

XXX

"You sure you don't want to call for backup?" Grace asked.

It was nearly dawn now, the quiet Sacramento streets painted in watery grays. The sign on the shop front of Isis Natural Cosmetics said they wouldn't be open yet for several hours.

Teresa unsnapped her hip holster and peered through the glass window of the shop. Everything inside was dark, but she could see pots and compacts of all-natural makeup displayed among bright floral bouquets and Egyptian kitsch.

She'd felt guilty when she'd called Grace, but the junior agent was still in awe of her enough to go along with her craziness; Cho or Rigsby would have questioned the sense in standing in the dark looking at a storefront. They would have to wait for morning to get inside, to question the owner anyway.

She didn't feel like calling Jane because that meant being near Jane, and right now that was like rubbing salt in an open wound.

Maybe it was the frustration of the case, or the exhaustion, or the lingering migraine, but she had to look around the store in person. When she'd Googled local distributors of styrax, something about this shop, so close to home, had sent a frisson through her.

"Let's just look around back," Teresa said. "Then I'll take you to breakfast, promise."

She could tell from Grace's expression that the other woman was excited to be out on a little renegade adventure with her boss.

Isis Natural Cosmetics was in an old brick building that housed several specialty shops. They circled the building and found the metal fire door that was spray painted with the words "Isis Receiving" in back.

On a hunch, Teresa pushed it. The door swung open.

She glanced at Grace, bit her lip in indecision, then moved forward.

She drew her gun. The shop was dark and smelled overpoweringly floral and medicinal at the same time. Her nose stung and her eyes started to water.

She squeezed her eyes closed and fought off a sneeze.

"Boss!" she heard Grace yell.

She saw the flash from Grace's gun as it fired.

Then her head exploded with pain, and she collapsed.

**A/N: Thanks for all the great reviews guys! This is my first mystery oriented fic, so let me know how it's going!**


	8. Chapter 8

Title: Rumor Has It

Author: Mlee Write

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with the Mentalist in any way and am not earning anything from this.

Spoilers: Set sometime around season 3 approximately.

Summary: "Jane, take off your pants," Teresa said irritably. "Here?" he asked scandalized. "In front of everyone?" Sequel to Jealous Dear?

VIII.

Jane found his nocturnal hiding place even less restful than usual. He hadn't chosen the attic for its ambiance or comfort, but because it afforded him time to think without distraction. Usually he could fall into an exhausted sleep for a few hours at least, but this time slumber eluded him completely. Eventually he tossed off the scratchy wool blanket and took to pacing.

Sleeping with Lisbon had spoiled him completely. The sound of her steady breathing, the sleepy smell of lavender and sweat never failed to lull him under. A week ago he woke up with her pressed against his back, and for one moment, he forgot. He forgot about Angela and Charlotte. He forgot about Red John. All his anger and grief had faded away during the night, and he woke up feeling content and restored.

For a decade he had awakened to the pain of loss every single morning, then suddenly, it was gone.

The guilt nearly did him in. He knew that people who grieved never really found closure, they just found a way to move on. Maybe if his wife and daughter had died in a car accident he could have done that. Maybe if his arrogance hadn't been the cause of their deaths, he would already be re-married and happy. Being with Lisbon, being without guilt for one shining second, was an absolution he didn't deserve.

Of course, pushing her away now would cause her pain that _she_ didn't deserve.

There was no way either of them came out of this whole.

Near dawn he walked to the CBI gym, did his usual workout, and changed. After eating breakfast at a greasy spoon down the road, he ambled back into the bullpen fashionably late for work.

Cho and Rigsby were at their desks, looking less than thrilled about spending another day chasing a serial killer. Van Pelt was absent. Lisbon's office was dark.

"Lisbon in a meeting?" Jane asked as he settled onto his couch, hoping he might doze for an hour.

"Hasn't shown up yet," Cho said.

Jane felt his stomach clench.

Teresa was never late. Never.

XXX

Teresa woke with a pounding in her skull and the taste of blood in her mouth. For a moment she panicked, feeling like she was suffocating, then she realized she was gagged, and she began to breathe slowly through her nose.

She was lying on her side on a cold cement floor. She opened her eyes carefully, the light sending a blast of pain into the back of her head. It took a moment for her vision to focus. When she did she saw the back of a woman as she hunched over Van Pelt.

Grace was bound to a chair with duct tape, her fingers clenching the arms spasmodically. Teresa couldn't see her face; it was shadowed by the woman's back. The only light in the basement came from a bare bulb directly above Grace's head.

The woman was humming softly. She was wearing a long corduroy skirt, clogs, and a cotton turtleneck that was dingy with age. Brown hair fell to her waist. She rocked back and forth a little as she hummed, finally stepping away from Grace and turning to look at Teresa.

"Oh, good, you're up," she said brightly. Her eyes seemed blank and flat, her voice falsely cheery. Teresa felt the woman's madness like a chill down her spine. "She's almost done."

She stepped away and Teresa saw that Grace's eyelids had been coated with green eye shadow and think black mascara. Her mouth was covered with duct tape, but the woman had drawn lips on it in tacky coral lipstick.

Teresa wiggled her arms; they were bound behind her back, but not tightly. Her hands were numb from lack of use but she could tell her wrists were held together with a plastic zip tie. The killer hadn't tightened it quite enough.

Careful to keep the rest of her body still, she pulled her left hand down, struggling to slide it out of the tie. It slid down to the first knuckle of her thumb, where it was trapped against the hard plastic.

"She's so pretty now," the woman said. "Just like all of my sweet little dolls."

She was setting the makeup she had used on an old TV tray, lining it up methodically.

Teresa kept pulling. She felt the plastic cut into her skin. The blood made wiggling her wrists a little easier.

"I had to set them free, you know," the woman said in her sing-song voice. "All my little dolls were lost."

She pulled harder. The edge of the plastic binding was cutting deeply into the tissue around her thumb now. Beads of sweat popped on her forehead. She was cutting through a thick layer of skin, severing it on the dull plastic edge. The pain was surprisingly intense, like having her hand set on fire. She kept pulling, felt the blood run hot down her arm.

"They were all corrupted, dirty," the woman continued. "All of them polluted by fornicating with those men. I had to set them free, so that they wouldn't hurt anyone else. I had to keep everyone safe from them." Sadness tinged her voice. She sighed with regret, then brightened. "I'm sure someone as beautiful as you has lots of boyfriends," she said to Grace. Van Pelt shook her head, eyes wide.

Teresa pulled harder; blackness swam around the edges of her vision. She felt the pop of her hand slipping free.

The woman picked up the knife, edged toward Grace. "I'll set you free too, my dear."

Teresa pulled her legs up behind her, reaching back with her right hand and lifting the cuff of her pants. She pulled the little gun out of its ankle holster.

The woman raised the knife over Grace's stomach.

Teresa rolled forward, fired.

Blood misted Grace's face. The knife hit the floor first with a clatter; the woman slumped down after it.

Grace hunched forward and wheezed. Teresa pulled the gag from her mouth. Head and hand throbbing, she crawled forward. She pushed the body away and began to pull at the duct tape holding Van Pelt's arms down. Her hands were slick with blood and she fumbled miserably. She glanced at her left thumb and gagged. She'd shaved the skin off to the bone. Her vision swam.

There was a loud bang from somewhere upstairs, then shouting.

"Down here!" she screamed, although it came out as a croak.

She heard the basement door break as it was kicked in. SWAT entered first, guns drawn, lights blinding her momentarily. Cho and Rigsby were behind them, decked out in tactical gear. The moment they saw the dead woman they swarmed forward. She slumped to the floor.

Rigsby freed Grace. When the tape was removed from her mouth, the redhead started barking commands. "Call an ambulance, Lisbon is hurt!"

Cho kneeled next to her. "She hit my head," Teresa said. "I think I have a concussion."

She felt Jane before she saw him. He was next to her, resting a hand on her shoulder. She'd recognize his touch anywhere.

When she opened her eyes she saw he was wearing a bulletproof vest over his shirt. His jacket was gone.

"I thought they didn't make those in your size," she teased.

He took a look at her hand and went white. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket (of course he carried one, she thought sarcastically), and pressed it to her thumb to stop the bleeding.

She screamed at his touch, pulling her legs into her chest, her bladder threatening to burst at the pain.

"It's okay," he said. "The ambulance is almost here."

He was so worried, his face covered in exhausted lines. She felt tears leak out of the corners of her eyes. Let Cho think it was the pain.

"Where's the goddamned bus?" she heard Rigsby yell.

Everything was noise and chaos, so she curled herself around Jane's knees, feeling his warmth through his slacks.

He gathered her in his arms, mindful of her hand, and tucked her close to his chest. The vest was hard and cool against her cheek.

"You boys did a pretty bad job of charging in here to save the day," she said, intending to joke, but her tone fell flat. "We had to save ourselves again."

She heard him whisper, "I'm so sorry."

Cho looked away, but she knew he heard too.

She closed her eyes and breathed through the pain, letting him hold her, just for this moment.

A/N: Reviews? Pretty please?


	9. Chapter 9

Title: Rumor Has It

Author: Mlee Write

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with the Mentalist in any way and am not earning anything from this.

Spoilers: Set sometime around season 3 approximately.

Summary: "Jane, take off your pants," Teresa said irritably. "Here?" he asked scandalized. "In front of everyone?" Sequel to Jealous Dear?

IX.

Teresa felt light headed and hazy on the ambulance ride to the hospital. There was too much noise and activity.

The ER was all fluorescent lights and ugly green paint. She flinched when they started the IV in her good hand. The doctor took one look at her thumb, and she could tell it wasn't good.

"You may need a skin graft," he told her flatly.

In the end they managed to close the wound, although the process was long and painful. They numbed her as best they could, but she refused the nerve block they offered, knowing it would only delay things further. Her sutures looked like something from a horror movie before they bandaged her up.

She went through the CAT scan process, trying to be patient, but just desperately wanting to go home. When they finally confirmed that she had a mild concussion, she tried not to say "I could have told you that."

"You really shouldn't go home alone," the doctor told her. "Do you have a responsible adult you can ask to stay with you?"

"Sure," she said, knowing that she wasn't going to call anyone. All she wanted was to be alone.

She collected her things, filled her prescription for a painkiller, and skirted the waiting room where she knew Jane was. She felt bad leaving him there, sitting in one of those awful plastic chairs, but she couldn't face him yet. Part of her was ashamed of having followed the lead without backup, of putting Van Pelt in danger. She knew she wouldn't have been so stupid if she hadn't been angry at Jane. Another part of her, the place she kept locked down in the bottom of her heart, was simply weary.

When she had invited Jane back to her hotel room those months ago, she had been perfectly aware that any relationship they might have would be difficult to say the least. What she hadn't been aware of was how deeply she really loved him. He had been her partner and friend for nearly decade, and all that time together had served to strengthen the love she felt for him. Sex and intimacy had been the final two ingredients the potion needed to be complete. She couldn't settle for anything less than a full life with him now, and that was something he couldn't give.

She caught a cab back to her apartment. She figured Jane might follow, and he had a key, so she slipped the chain in place, and for good measure, hooked a kitchen chair under the doorknob.

The light on her cellphone was blinking. She opened it and listened to an irate message from Jane, and then a concerned one from Cho. She called Cho back.

"Stitches and a concussion," she said without preamble the moment he answered.

"The woman you killed was named Holly Vosen," he told her. "Her knife matched all four murders. We pulled a file on her from family services. Her mother was a prostitute. She was removed from her mother's care at age ten after someone reported that mom's pimp was abusing her."

Teresa sighed and leaned her head against her fridge door. "History of mental illness?"

"You bet," said Cho. He paused then added, "You should have called for backup, Boss."

That was as much of a reprimand as she was going to get from him, but since it was Cho, it was as harsh a screaming fit. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Get some rest," he said before disconnecting.

She looked at her phone. Jane had texted twice while she had been on the line with Cho. She didn't bother to read them; she just shut the phone off. She opened the freezer door, removed an ice pack for her hand, and made her way to the couch.

She iced her thumb for an hour and watched some mindless television. She tried not to think about how Grace looked, taped to a chair, a knife-wielding psychopath hovering above her.

Finally a combination of lack of sleep and adrenaline wearing off left her feeling edgy and exhausted. She ran a hand through her hair, and felt the flakes of dried blood on her scalp. She sighed and made her way for the bathtub before she crawled into bed.

She added lavender bath soap to the running water, hoping it would help her feel relaxed. Undressing with one hand was more of a chore than she'd expected, and by the time she sank into the hot water, she was feeling more irritated than anything. She probably did need help, just as the doctor suggested, but she'd be damned if she was going to ask for it.

She soaked for a bit, pondering the logistics of bathing one handed and keeping her bandaged hand completely dry. She realized she should have put it in a plastic bag and taped it shut.

She groaned in frustration even as the door to her bathroom creaked open.

"I figured you'd show up," she said grumpily.

Jane poked his blond head around the bathroom door, his own irritation plain on his face. He saw her predicament and entered the room, pushing his sleeves up his arms. "I can't believe you ditched me at the hospital," he said. "Are you punishing me?"

She pressed her good hand to her forehead, water trickling down her face. "I just wanted to be alone."

"After a concussion and a major hand injury. Good plan," he said sarcastically. He knelt next to the tub and reached for her loofa and soap. He worked up a good lather and began to wash her shoulders and chest. She kept her hurt hand out of the water while he washed her arms and neck carefully.

"How did you get in?" she asked. "Please tell me you didn't break a window."

He pulled one leg from the water, soaped it, rinsed it, then moved on to its mate. "You really think a chain and a chair will keep me at bay?" he asked playfully. Bathing her had seemed to relax him.

She groaned as he massaged the ache in her calf. "I'm really glad you're not a serial killer. You'd be a pain in the ass to catch." She eyed him. "As opposed to just a pain in the ass."

He helped her lean back in the water to soak her hair, then began massaging shampoo into her scalp. He was careful around the cut on the back of her head where she had been struck.

"I used to do this for my daughter," he said conversationally. She was surprised that there was no sadness in his voice.

He rinsed her hair with the shower head, then helped her out of the tub. He dried her and helped her change into clean pajamas. Fatigue was making her feel nauseated and weepy now. She leaned against his chest after he pulled her pajama shirt on, breathed in his scent until she was steady again. Her hand was throbbing painfully.

He lifted her and carried her to the bed. He sat down, still cradling her in his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck, buried her face in his shoulder. Without wanting to, she started to sob very softly. He rocked her, and it took a moment for her realize he was crying too.

When she stopped weeping she wiped her face with her good hand, then wiped away his tears too. She kissed him softly and pulled him down onto the pillows with her. Curling into his arms she said, "Tell me something nice, Patrick."

"I'm going try to be the man you need, Teresa," he said softly. "I really am."


	10. Chapter 10

Title: Rumor Has It

Author: Mlee Write

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with the Mentalist in any way and am not earning anything from this.

Spoilers: Set sometime around season 3 approximately.

Summary: "Jane, take off your pants," Teresa said irritably. "Here?" he asked scandalized. "In front of everyone?" Sequel to Jealous Dear?

X.

Teresa woke to an agonizing throbbing in her hand and the smell of pancakes. She slipped from her bed and shuffled into the kitchen where Jane was standing over a skillet, pouring batter in perfect little circles.

He was wearing just his shirt and slacks, and looked deliciously rumpled.

She sat down on one of the stools next to the counter and reached for the amber prescription bottle that held her painkillers.

"You're supposed to take those with food," Jane said, never turning around.

She dry swallowed a pill. "Coffee's a food," she said.

"I don't think so." He left the pancakes to cook, reached into her fridge, and pulled out a plastic carafe of orange juice. He poured her a large glass and handed it to her.

She sipped it, watched him cook. Jane cooking was like girl porn, she decided. Her stomach was rumbling, and when he warmed up the maple syrup, she felt her mouth start to water.

"I know I didn't have orange juice," she remarked. "Or eggs, or maple syrup…"

"You had half a gallon of milk and some protein bars," he remarked dryly. "I went to the store and bought actual food while you were asleep. No wonder you're so skinny."

"I'm not 'skinny,'" she said defensively.

He smiled at her, that lopsided grin. "Petite, lithe, delectable," he amended, waving his spatula in the air for emphasis. He flipped the pancakes onto a plate and slid it in front of her, then handed her the maple syrup.

She cut the pancakes with her fork, keeping her left hand resting beside her uselessly. If Jane tried to cut her food for her, she'd smack him.

"I texted Cho from your phone and told him you were taking next week off," Jane told her.

She choked on a bite of pancake. "You what?"

"You need a break," he said.

"Screw you, Jane," she snapped. "You don't get to pick when I use my vacation days."

"Plus it will give you time to help me move in here," he said casually.

She swallowed, disbelieving. "What?"

He placed his hands on the counter, leaned over it to kiss her forehead. "I'm moving in."

She glanced down at his hands. His fingers were bare. It was then that she saw the gold chain glinting under the collar of his shirt. She knew immediately what hung there.

Her mouth went dry.

"Jane…Patrick," she said. "You don't have to. If you aren't ready."

"I thought I could hide this, protect you from Red John because I loved you," he said, his voice raw with honesty and shame. "Then I realized it was my vanity telling me I could protect you from him. The same vanity that got Angela and Charlotte killed."

He squeezed his eyes closed and she reached across the counter to place her hand over his. "Patrick," she whispered.

"Red John will know, so we'll just have to be a step ahead of him," he said quietly. "But I can't protect you from everything. I almost lost you yesterday and it had nothing to do with Red John. I have accept that part of being in love is opening myself up to the possibility that you could be taken from me."

He seemed so afraid in that moment, so terrified, that she felt her chest constrict painfully. She slipped from her stool and walked around the counter to hold him, pressing against his chest and feeling his wedding band, warm against the skin of her cheek.

"I love you so much, Teresa," he said. "It terrifies me."

"I love you too," she whispered. "We'll figure this out, Patrick."

He kissed her, their kisses tasted like maple syrup and sleep and hope.

She didn't break the kiss, even when he carried her to the bedroom. He stripped them of their clothes, quickly and efficiently. He began to kiss her breasts, to caress her, but she stopped him, pulled him to her.

"Not this time," she said. "I need you now."

When he slid inside of her, she felt complete and whole. Their lovemaking was less about pleasure than it was about love, about a promise of tomorrow.

When they reached completion, he rolled onto his side next to her, and drew her into his arms. She was logy from the painkillers and from relief. They dozed together, naked, resplendent, filled with joy.

XXX

They spent most of the week in bed. In between lovemaking and napping, they moved Jane in piece by piece. His clothes hung in her closet. His razor sat next to her sink. His teakettle stayed on the burner on her stovetop.

When she walked into the living room one morning she pulled one of his books from her bookshelf and settled on the couch to read it. She noticed a stack of crossword puzzles and Sudoku books on her coffee table next to a cooling cup of Yunnan gold tea. She made it half way through chapter two before Jane wandered in the living room, saw her lying there, and decided he had better ideas. She didn't put the book down when he sat down on the end of the sofa. She just turned a page when he pulled her yoga pants off. She gasped, but kept reading when he buried his gold curls between her thighs and began to lap expertly at her sex.

The book trembled in her hand when he drew her little knot of nerves between his lips and sucked gently. Finally she felt it fall to her chest when she shattered against the rough velvet of his tongue.

He looked up at her slyly and she pushed him onto his back. She reached for his fly.

"Think I can do this one handed?" she asked wickedly.

Neither of them stopped when the puzzle books slid to the floor. They didn't even blink when one of them kicked the coffee table over and Yunnan gold soaked into her carpeting.


	11. Chapter 11

Title: Rumor Has It

Author: Mlee Write

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with the Mentalist in any way and am not earning anything from this.

Spoilers: Set sometime around season 3 approximately.

Summary: "Jane, take off your pants," Teresa said irritably. "Here?" he asked scandalized. "In front of everyone?" Sequel to Jealous Dear?

Epilogue

Teresa tried to type one handed, which was more obnoxious than she'd thought it would be. She couldn't wait for her physical therapist to determine that she could remove her hand brace.

She hit the backspace key for the hundredth time when her phone trilled. She reached for it, but it was on the left side of her desk, so she had to lean across her keyboard to get it. Her elbow hit the keyboard and promptly undid all of her work.

"Son of a bitch," she hissed.

She picked it up and winced when she heard La Roche's eerily calm voice on the other end of the line. She was pretty sure he caught the last snippet of what she'd said.

"Agent Lisbon," he said serenely. "I'd like to see you and Mr. Jane in my office, please."

She gritted her teeth. She knew this was going to happen one day. "Of course, sir."

She took a sip of coffee to fortify herself, then made her way to the bullpen. Jane was harassing Rigsby; the man was a destructive as a bored puppy.

"La Roche wants to see us," she said sharply.

He raised one golden eyebrow, but followed her wordlessly. She could see the other members of the team watch them intently.

The walk to La Roche's office was tense and silent. Jane put a hand on her low back as they walked through the door, and she felt the gesture for the reassurance it was.

She sat in the chair in front of his desk. Jane lounged against one wall insolently.

La Roche looked up from his files and cut right to the chase. "Rumor has it that you two are living together," he said.

"Is there a rule against that?" Jane asked before she could speak. "CBI agents being roommates?"

La Roche studied them both for a moment. "I find it unlikely that two adults of opposite genders living together are just roommates," he said.

"Then you clearly don't watch enough TV," Jane countered. "Friends. New Girl. Will and Grace. I'm up on all the sitcoms."

Teresa sighed. "Sir…"

La Roche held up a hand. "I'm not here to reprimand you. What you do outside this office is your business. You're both adults and as far as I'm concerned your personal lives are no business of mine or the agency."

Teresa felt relief flood her system.

"That said," La Roche continued, "the rules about a consultant and CBI agent …fraternizing are fuzzy at best. I see no reason to pursue this any further. Besides, there have been rumors about you two since Jane joined the bureau. I have an entire file devoted to them."

Jane wrinkled his nose. "That's gross."

La Roche shrugged. "Internal affairs is an indelicate division."

"Is there anything else?" Teresa asked, wanting to nip this in the bud before it got worse.

"Nothing I can think of," La Roche said.

She rushed out of office, wanting to put as much space between herself and La Roche as possible. Jane lazily pushed back from the wall, shooting La Roche a cocky grin as he did so. She felt nearly giddy with relief as they strolled back to the bullpen. Jane was grinning.

"We just need to be careful," she whispered to him. "La Roche may not care, but that doesn't mean Bertram won't."

"He did say the rules were fuzzy," Jane remarked.

She rolled her eyes. "Just don't do anything foolish, okay?"

Jane nodded solemnly. "Of course."

Cho, Rigsby, and Van Pelt looked up as they entered the bullpen. Jane smiled at them brilliantly, then grasped Teresa's shoulders, dipped her down in one swooping gesture, and kissed her passionately on the mouth.

She heard Rigsby and Van Pelt gasp. She was pretty sure she heard someone in the kitchenette drop a mug.

Jane lifted her back upright, then strolled back to his couch and lied down like nothing had happened.

She sighed and put her hand to her forehead, "Everyone back to work," she grumbled.

Van Pelt and Rigsby were grinning as they went back to their work. Cho quirked the tiniest of smiles.

"Love you, Lisbon," Jane muttered from the couch, cocky grin still in place.

"Love you too," she said on a whisper.

A/N: Well what did you think? Should we make this a trilogy?


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